


no trophies, just reminders

by cicak



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Feelings, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:11:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5758999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicak/pseuds/cicak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn is a revelation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no trophies, just reminders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deputychairman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deputychairman/gifts).



There’s this horrible hush over the base once the inevitable waves of cheering stop. The Starkiller is dead, a newly reborn star in the heavens in its place, but so is a legend, and it’s all tied together in this horrible family tragedy that everyone has been drawn into, the private made public in the most agonising way. No one on the base is in the mood to do much more than light the fires and sing the songs of the dead, go through the motions of celebration and mourning as they count the missing x-wings on both hands, count the lost souls on the destroyed systems in advanced number systems, and count the weight heavy on the General’s shoulders in whispers and stolen looks. Normally, after a mission like the Starkiller, Poe would crawl from bed to bed for at least the next three days, fucking it out of his system until he is sore and sticky and sure that the last of the adrenaline has left his blood stream and he can finally sleep without the ghosts following him down into dreamspace.

Instead, his thoughts are on a half-mangled body of a beautiful boy that he picked up on a star destroyer lying in sickbay with the best medics they have left fussing over his healing machines, and it’s really taken the edge off his enthusiasm. He drinks instead, and it’s a paltry replacement for fucking so he drinks so much the new star above is spinning with its brethren, and let’s his 2IC sit on his face until he feels like he might drown, fading with the rest of the embers of the symbolic fire.

 

The medics take their time rebuilding Finn from the inside out, each layer rebuilt cell by cell by the best medicine droid-kind can operate. After two days of getting underfoot Poe is forbidden from entering the sickbay unless given leave to do so by the head of medical, which is a relief for everyone involved. His nightmares are full of the ooze around bandages, the burnt swathe of Finn’s back and the shocking pinkness of new flesh that is so sore it hurts the eyes.

 

The republic is in tatters, and in the power vacuum the First Order are ascendent despite the loss of their world-destroying base and so Poe throws himself into being the General’s trusted right hand man, a role he finds exhausting to play. He thrives best on instinct, on adrenaline, but Leia needs his deliberation, his cognition, his tactics and it is far more taxing on him to be smart rather than lucky. She keeps his mind spinning as fast as he keeps BB-8 rolling back and forth to sickbay with spurious messages until news comes that Finn is awake and asking for him.

 

\--

 

The rains have come during the day and the external lights are dim and smeared with streaks of rain, but when night comes the stars are bright, and the eternal memorial fire they lit is burning huge in the fire pit despite everything, but Poe feels cold, even with his new jacket tight around his shoulders and Finn sitting pressed against him, warm as the fire itself.

 

Poe insisted that they come out here and let Finn have a proper celebration for the souls of the dead and for their own souls still being alive. It’s probably foolishly sentimental, Finn is from a different world, a different culture, and he has a lot to learn about their ways, but death rituals are one of those things that are personal even if they come from a brutal, evil regime, there’s no reason that Finn would want to remember the dead the way that Poe was raised to. But there are fresh sweetmeats in the galley, sticky with honey and ritual meaning, and he wants to watch Finn learn how they taste, wants to see every pure first experience that Finn has, wants to know the darkness inside him, wants to see the humanity awaken within him as the conditioning sloughs away.

 

They sit by the fire until everyone else has drifted away, and the fire has banked until it is nothing but eternal embers burning in the grate and instead the stars are bright enough to see and be seen by. It feels like maybe the previous weeks hadn’t happened, and the wounds of the fresh ghosts are raw again, but this time Finn is by his side like he had always planned.

 

Next to him he feels Finn fall into a microsleep, a tiny snatched second of pure unconsciousness, but Poe knows that under his eyelids hide burning bodies, exploding planets, people screaming, and when Finn jerks awake almost immediately, breathing hard, Poe is there, whispering “Hey, hey hey” his finger catching Finn’s chin, allowing his eyes to search Finn’s face for distress or injury. “We should get you to bed, huh?”

Finn whimpers, dropping his face, and Poe feels the nodding movement of his shorn-short hair against the sensitive skin of his neck, and shivers.

 

\--

 

Finn almost falls asleep twice before they get back to the sleeping quarters, each time jerking awake with a pained mumble. He has been assigned the only free quarters near to sickbay, a small, cozy nook of a room that is mostly bed and not much else, designed for quiet respite from the hectic long shifts when everything has gone wrong and medics have to sleep or someone else will die. Poe has adrenaline-fucked at least three compatriots on the worn sheets after an all-clear, doing his part for the resistance by getting other people to fly.

 

Poe tries to help Finn out of his jacket, to put him to bed with all gentlemanly intentions, but Finn resists it, pushing back against him and pulling him in at the same time, caught in a cloud of instinct and want.

 

They’re close. The heaters have just barely warmed the rooms and so while the bonecutting chill of the outside is gone it is still heavy bedclothes weather, and yet Poe can feel himself warming up just by proximity to Finn’s burning body.

 

“I just feel so helpless” Finn whispers, his fists tight in the collar of Poe’s shirt. “It’s all buzzing, I’m so tired but it just won’t let me sleep. I feel like everything is falling from my fingers, like I can’t catch onto reality. That I will wake up and I’ll be back in the dorm with no name, no purpose, and they’ll make me kill you.”

There’s a split-second where Poe wants to step back, go to the medics and get something nicely formulated and well-tested, snap into jovial pilot speak and maybe blow Finn until the drugs take hold, but instead he whispers back “You need to feel in control again” and “trust me” and “let me do this for you.”

 

He kisses Finn softly, then, just a brush of lip on lip, a statement of intent, the initial swell of an orchestra moving towards a first significant crescendo, a secret told beneath warm blankets, and in response Finn crashes into him like a wave. Its intoxicating, but Poe holds himself, still, pliant and giving but not really moving.

“Come on!” Finn husks under his breath, not getting it.

“Make me.” Poe says, looking up through his lashes and smiling and Finn’s eyes light up then, when he gets it, gets what Poe is really offering him. He digs a hand into Poe’s hair, takes a fistful near the roots and puts the other hand on the rough slab of his jaw and _takes_.

 

Submission feels a bit like the beat your heart skips when the engines cut out under the pull of strong gravity, the feeling beneath the terror that’s the most primal, beautiful feeling of falling you’ve ever felt. The first time Poe gave everything up to someone felt like he was losing everything, that he was going to be lost, but instead he gained something perfect in return, a secret, a revelation the gods whispered just to him.

 

He drops to his knees and takes in Finn. Finn, who has his borrowed hospital casuals tugged down dangerously low so that his cock is pressing against the thin fabric in the most perfect way. It’s right there, but Finn needs to be in control right now, however much Poe needs to get it in his mouth, have its thick girth down his throat until he has to croak out his orders tomorrow and weather Jessika’s knowing smirk, he waits, patiently, and lets Finn pull his hair and look at him with wonder in his eyes, and only lets go to order him to strip for him.

 

Poe knows how to make it good, how to take a shirt off with a sway of the hips, how to tilt his pelvis just right that it makes all the muscles in his abdomen pop and the crowds go wild, how to bend over just so to play up the good parts but hide the scars and the gouges that come with being a hotshot pilot, but it all leaves him when Finn settles on the bed, his back supported against the plush upholstery, and he instead slinks out of the performative headspace and into the darker one, and presents his body as it is, and Finn comes to him all the same, balanced steadily on the soft mattress.

 

Poe takes his time to undress Finn, to worship him as much as he’ll allow. He pulls away practical sickbay clothes to reveal both new and old scars, maps them with his mouth, his fingers, his mind, lets his mouth hover over Finn’s cock, waiting for permission. He gets a hand on the fragile meat of his neck, and then his mouth opens under the pressure of the plush head and he is momentarily choking on both the physicality and the momentousness of it before he gets his brain in gear and the angle correct and feels the press of delirious success as it slips down his throat.

 

Finn hasn’t a clue really what he’s doing but he has an instinct and enough common sense to follow it, and so when Poe looks up with a throat as full as he had dreamed, Finn’s eyes are bright and hard and awake, so awake, and when Finn puts his hands back in his hair, not pulling but instead running his fingers through it like he can’t get enough, it is that caress that is almost enough for Poe. He pulls off, breathing deep, his mouth so wet, so thick with primal feeling, and he’s nearly shaking apart until he takes breath that pulls him back together.

 

Finn takes it as his cue to take over, and quickly gets his big palms all over him, the palms fitting perfectly against the curve of Poe’s slim hips, he fingers tracing the scars there from a bad crash where the harness dug in and saved his life but the infection almost killed him. The first touch of thick fingers against his hole, not pushing, just curious, feeling their way, makes his heart stick in his throat with anticipation, and then the bulk of Finn’s body descends, holding him down bent with his knees to his chest, his cock tucked tightly between them, as Finn moves to mount him, his magnificent cock pushing hard against him ineffectually. Poe knows he is wound too tightly to be able to do this without lube and Finn just too on edge to survive it anyway, that instead Finn focuses on the symbolism of the whole thing, of holding Poe down, grinding his cock against his hole furled tight and useless and Poe hurts with the need to be fucked, more than he ever wanted anything in his whole goddamn life.

This is a goddamn rutting room in a base full of young adrenaline junkies, and so Poe works a hand out from under where he is being crushed by Finn’s beautiful body and casts it around and sure enough, tucked into the crack between the mattress and the wall is a tube of half used lube and he cries out with relief.

 

Finn is a smart boy and works out everything, and gets the fingers of his left hand slicked up nice and good, and slides them in. Poe would have come right then, but Finn is smart, so smart, did he mention smart? and he as his hand wrapped tight enough to hurt around the root of Poe’s poor neglected cock, alloy-hard and weeping, stopping it from coming and it’s enough, it pulls him back, but it’s torture and Poe does for a moment consider that he might not survive this fuck, that maybe the First Order set Finn as a double agent to fuck him to death.

 

There’s barely a wait before Finn slides in with a sweetness that shouldn’t be possible when you’re so wound up, and maybe there’s something in all that stormtrooper super soldier training, because he’s got his hands in Poe’s hair again and is pulling until Poe’s spine is bent in a perfect parabola that he will regret in the morning but feels so good as Finn’s perfect cock nudges hard and fast in the very depths of him.

 

There is absolutely no way even a super soldier can last long when it is this incendiary, like there’s a sun exploding all over again in and around them. Poe can hear them grunting, can hear the obscene slap of skin against skin, can hear the skittering noises of people running past their room outside, knows that everyone will know that he got fucked good the moment they see it on his face, and he loves it, loves it so much, and he comes so hard he gets spots of dancing light at the edge of his vision and a throat that hurts from the strength of the noises he makes.

 

Finn lets go of his hair, and Poe drops, limp and satiated, as Finn takes a minute to ride out the aftershocks of his body, to revel in every twitch and grasping muscle spasm, and then really goes for it, both hands on his hips hard enough to bruise and comes with a shout that sounds like it’s being ripped out of him.

 

In the distance, Poe hears a smattering of sarcastic applause, and smiles into the rumpled sheets. When he finally manages to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs and twisted fabric in the sweat soaked ruin of the bed, Finn is clinging only just onto consciousness long enough to pull Poe to his chest, and it’s easy, so easy, to just let sleep take both of them into her waiting arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I love this fandom but this pairing is too sweet and so I am here to even up the score with some prime filth. This is almost entirely deputychairman's fault.
> 
> I'm screaming about the star war on my tumblr, so if you want to encourage this kind of thing, come scream with me at [cicaklah.tumblr.com](http://cicaklah.tumblr.com)


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